


Perfect Breathing Cement

by Be_Inspired



Series: Never The Same [1]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bucky Barnes is SHIELD Agent, Dad Rumlow, Everyone is SHIELD Agent, Father and son moments, M/M, Misunderstood Bucky Barnes, No Avengers, Rumlow is still STRIKE Team Leader, no Hydra, son peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2020-11-09 03:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20846567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Be_Inspired/pseuds/Be_Inspired
Summary: James Buchanan Barnes has a problem.He fells head over heels for the leader of the S.T.R.I.K.E. team who’s too perfect and a father of a teenage son. In his past experiences, relationship could turn into a somewhat hostile situation when there is a kid in the mixture. Times like this that he wishes for Rumlow to be a full blown asshole with criminal history or at least born with buck teeth and crocked nose so Bucky can just move on.Then again, Rumlow’s son, Peter, turns out to be anything but difficult. The kid is in fact, a living, breathing cement who has a gift of, well, unconsciously cementing people together.





	1. Chapter 1

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

“Here.”

Next to him, the teenager started from his trance, looked up and then stared at the candy pinched in between Bucky’s fingers like he was offered cocaine in middle of the train, in the middle of a crowd. Perhaps from hindsight, it was sort of shady for a total stranger to offer an equally stranger—much younger in this case—a piece of candy. That, if Bucky thought a little bit deeply, was understandable.

“Relax.” The S.H.I.E.L.D agent continued when the teen, probably in his high school years, was still staring at the piece of confectionary, like it was going to become, well, animated at any moment. “It’s just cherry flavour candy. Not Marijuana.”

All of sudden, the teen’s head snapped up like he was poked with a syringe before his muscles relaxed underneath that odd t-shirt with an equally odd pun. “I know its candy.” The corner of his lips was pulled tight to form a small smile.

He’s young, fifteen or sixteen years old, Bucky reckoned, with dark brown hair that matched his Bambi-like eyes. The kid seemed to have a religious facial care routine to have fresh, smooth, milk like complexion like that. Or he was simply blessed with one. 

“Thanks.” Finally, the teen took the candy, readjusting the school bag on his laps before tearing the packet.

Shrugging, Bucky leaned back into his seat. “No problem.” He sighed, watching as the teen moved the candy around in his mouth with a muffled ‘clack’. He was distant, regardless of the treat, seemingly disconnected with his surroundings. From where Bucky sat—which was literally close—he could hear the gears and cogs inside the kid’s head moved. Not in rapid speed, but in a dangerous, all over the place. Although, he was aware of each stations they have passed as his focus seemed to sharpen momentarily each time the speaker went off announcing the stop.

“You seem like you needed it. I’m James Buchanan Barnes. But my friends call me Bucky.”

In deliberate slowness, the teen turned his head. The candy moved again in his mouth before he said, “Oh. I’m—I’m Peter.”

Alright. So he’s the type that you have to pull every word from his mouth. Maybe. Or Peter was simply not in the mood to talk.

But Bucky wasn’t deterred. If he was going to spend another thirty minutes before he reached his station, he might as well dig some uncharted gold from some kid’s mouth.

“I don’t usually take the train.” Bucky started again, peddling his way across the water. The kid seemed nice, seemed timid. So the man wouldn’t have to worry about getting shoved from the boat. Being ignored was the worst thing that could happen. “But my car got into an accident, so it’s in the shop now. I can ask my friend to drive me home. But man, he drives like an old man.”

No palpable answer. Kid only nodded in acknowledgement even when the man obviously tried to make his life tragedy humorous. 

Okay. Change of tactic. The gold was not going anywhere. In fact, it would probably transform into Vibranium if left any longer.

“School problem?” Crossing his arms across his chests, Bucky looked at the teen. The engine and racketing noises were loud in the background, but he doubted the teen had any difficulty to hear. “Friends problem? Teacher problem? Grade problems?”

For a moment, the kid’s eyes looked thirsty, his whole expression was expressed in child-like need. Something was bottling inside him, Bucky could tell. Christ, Bucky initially had just wanted to entertain his boredom. But this looked fairy important and the man had this sudden instinct to dive deep.

Then, as quickly as his eyes sparked a life, the boy quickly looked away and shook his head.

“Look, I’m no counsellor. But I’m a good listener. And sometimes it helps just talking about it.”

Sceptical at first, the teen then finally yielded. “My school called my dad. And he went to see the principal yesterday.”

“Oh?” Bucky shifted in his seat with interest. “You got yourself in a trouble, Pete?”

“No!” Peter quickly shook his head, looked down and fiddled with the zipper of his bag. “No, it’s not like that.” A small swallow. “They wanted to see my dad because of my grade.”

“I,” As he paused, Peter made a final swallow of his candy. “We had test, last week. We thought it was just a normal test, a bit different from the ones we usually had. But then the teachers told us it was actually an IQ test from outside resource so they could assess our performance. Verbal comprehension, perceptual reasoning, processing speed and working memory.”

“So?” Raising an eyebrow, Bucky nodded. “What’s your score? I have a feeling a bad grade is not the problem here.”

Few times, the teen wet his lips before shaking his head. “My score gets me in a position where the teachers believe it will benefit me if I skip grades. But that’s not the bad part.”

Still in awed, Bucky could only swallow and listened. Jesus, Bucky barely finished highschool and he already bragged his way to next town. The kid looked like he was facing a Titanic deep kind of trouble just by having awesome grade. Unbelievable.

“My physic teacher put my name for recommendation. For scholarship and for Internship at Stark Industry.” Frustration was knitting his brows together when Peter huffed. “The school sent my scores, everything to SI and they sort of had this discussion. And Stark Industry agreed that I can gain admittance using the test score, full scholarship and I don’t have to wait until I’ve finished high school. Can you believe that? The school practically sold my result, without my consent!”

“That’s a breach of personal information.” Bucky agreed with the kid. Still, he still hasn’t met the elephant.

With a sigh, Peter then slumped into his seat. “Hence, my dad was called.”

Bucky scratched his head. “I’m sorry, kid. I mean, aside from the school selling your record, I’m still not seeing anything that—” Then, he saw it. The disappointment, the frustration, the refusal playing across the Peter’s face. _Oh..._

“You don’t wanna go.” More like a statement, less like a question. Delusional as he might be, Bucky felt like he was the first person to say it.

Peter shook his head slowly.

“Why? You’re not interested working for Stark? I mean, that guy is a genius and an asshole. His inventions are genius. And now they’re into developing Arc Reactor that will provide clean energy. People are dying just to work there.”

“I know. And I’d love just to be part of SI!” On his seat, Peter looked exasperated.

“So why, then?”

“Because then I have to leave my dad. The internship is at the new facility in San Francisco and it’s too far.”

That pulled a mischievous smile from Bucky. “Daddy’s boy, aren’t we?”

For a moment, he suspected a frown or an angry reflection. Instead, Peter only pouted. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. He’s my dad and there’s always been the two of us.”

“Sorry, sorry. I was kidding, Peter.” Bucky was relieved when Peter looked back and smiled. “Your mother?”

“Died.”

Alright, so it was Bucky’s turn to be Titaninc deep in the ocean. The guy in front of him looked at him like he was an emotionally constipated nightmare. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” The train lurched a bit and Peter was quick to grab on his seat. “I was too little to remember.” Deep breath, the teen dig his shoe into the hard floor, thinking, contemplating. “I figure if I don’t skip grades and don’t do the internship, I can spend more time with him before I actually graduated and go to college. I don’t want to leave my dad alone. He doesn’t have anyone right now. At least, I want him to find someone before I leave home.”

“What?”

“What?”

For the next two moments, Bucky stared at the peculiarity before him which had taken a form of a teenage boy. “You want to find someone for your dad?”

“Yeah.” Peter nodded quickly, not grasping the odd respond Bucky was exhibiting. “A date. Partner. Someone he can share his life with. He hasn’t been with anyone since mom died.”

Once Bucky lifted his jaw from the floor, the S.H.I.E.L.D agent shook his head. “Wow. You don’t hear that often. Usually, people would blow a gasket at the idea of having new people in the family. When my mom brought his boyfriend, I went ballistic.”

“My dad deserves it.” Peter deadpanned. His voice didn’t falter this time. “Someone good that he can spend the rest of his life with. I mean, I’m not the only he has. He needs to think about his life too.” 

“He never dates?”

The teen’s silence was because of him taking out a water bottle from his bag pack. He downed the water in few gulps before screwing the cap back. “He dates, but never went far. He ended it most of the time. I don’t know why. I told him I don’t mind him finding someone new.”

“Well,” Bucky said, watching as Peter rolled the bottle in between his open palms. “Not sure why your dad doesn’t want to date, but from the way you’ve been telling me, he seems like a cool guy.”

“He’s kind. I love him the most.” Eyes sincere, the teen smiled. Well, you sure don’t hear anyone describing their father as kind that often. The words awesome or cool usually are the ones that comes into the play. “He’s got this bad guy type of look, all scruffy and intense and he always has this brows thing going on. So people are usually afraid of him. They just,” Peter shrugged, flipping the bottle in the air before catching it with ease. “They don’t want to get to know him better.”

Bucky raked his shoulder length hair with his fingers, his interest on the kid’s story has yet to wane.

“Man, he sure sounds like my type of guy. If I’m not too crazy about this guy in my office, I’d definitely date your dad. If he doesn’t hate my gut of course.”

In instant, Bucky almost regretted his choice of words. He wanted to talk with the kid, not frightened him with his open homosexuality. But when he suspected at least a disproving scowl, he received another smile which slowly upgraded into a grin. The kid had a nice smile, Bucky had to admit that. It was sincere if anything.

“You seem like a good guy. I’m okay with the idea of you dating him.”

One after another, Peter never failed to amaze him, enough to leave him speechless. Only for a while. “Your dad doesn’t mind dating a guy? You don’t mind?”

From the corner of his eyes, Bucky noticed the middle age guy in a suit sitting opposite of them, three seats to the left, frowned. He was used to it, understood it even. Different sometimes could be scary. Not everyone was susceptible to changes.

“Dad’s Bi.” Peter then shrugged nonchalantly. “And I don’t mind. He thought me to accept people for what they are. It’s the heart that matters.”

Suddenly, Bucky was attacked by the urge to hug the kid. Whoever the kid’s father is, he must be a saint. But still, “I’m still crazy about this guy. I mean, I can’t even get him out of my head for one second.”

Shoulder slumped forward, Bucky felt his hair fell down, almost covering his face like a curtain. It lasted for a second or two before the man straightened up. “Back to your story. You gonna tell your old man about it? About you not wanting to do the whole internship thing?”

The tension was back and Peter gnawed the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know. I don’t want him to be disappointed.”

“For what?”

“For throwing away the opportunity.” 

Bucky turned his body slightly so he could face the teen better. “Look, Peter. This—this internship,” He made a gesture with his hand. “It’s not the end of the road. There’d always be another. You’re a good kid and a genius. I’m sure you’ll get another chance like this if not better. If your heart feels that it’s not the right thing to do, don’t do it. I’m not telling you to not take it, but I’m advising you to talk to your dad first. Just tell him.”

“What should I tell him..?”

“Everything that you’ve told me. Tell him what’s in your mind. Tell him how you actually feel about this whole thing. I’m sure you’ll get to see things more clearly when you talk to him.” Off his volition, Bucky’s hand went to Peter’s shoulder only to squeeze it gently. “If your dad is the same person that you’ve been telling me about, then he will understand. Regardless, he needs to know. And you deserve to be heard, Peter.”

As if on cue, the speaker went off again, announcing the station they’ve arrived at.

“This is my stop.” Quickly, the teen gathered his belongings in his arms. “Thanks Mr. Barnes, for everything and for the candy.” Around them, people were shuffling about. Some raising from their seats and exited the train. Some entering and searching, empty seats quickly taken.

Peter made a quick glance at the door, then back at Bucky. “I’m really glad that I talked to you. I really am.”

“Me too, kid.”

Standing up, Peter held his hand out. With a smile, Bucky took it and gave a firm shake. “I hope we will see each other again.”

“Sure we will. Small world after all.”

“Urrm, bye.” The wave was awkward, but Peter made do before he quickly rushed towards the exit. Barely few steps, the teen swivelled on his heels, almost colliding with another passenger. “Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky had to crane his neck a bit just to see the glimpse of Peter’s form amongst the crowd. “I think you should tell that guy about your feeling. You never knew what’s waiting for you.” The door was on the verge on closing any time moment now, so Peter quickly ended his sentence with, “If you don’t, you’ll regret it.”

Just as the door began to slide, the teen practically leaped through it, earning a shout from the conductor. Bucky quickly turned on his seat, peeking through the window to see if Peter has made it. He did, and when the SHIELD agent saw the teen waving frantically at him from the platform, the man only chuckled and waved back. 

The train started moving again, and as Bucky shifted back and made himself comfortable, he shook his head and smiled.

“Weird kid.”

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

If reluctance could manifest itself into something organic, six feet tall at least, with working limbs, Bucky was certain it would kick Fury in the solar plexus.

Because right now, Winter Soldier was anything but pliant. Right now, he’s that child that was forced to sell bear shaped cookies, knocking every doors in the neighbourhood in Boy Scout uniform.

Un-fucking-believable.

“Why do I have to be in the meeting? I hate field work.” Regardless, Bucky willed himself to walk along the corridor, the S.H.I.E.L.D director by his side. He had to. The man probably could kill with his one good eye only, so the agent wouldn’t want to poke the sleeping carnivore.

The eye patch didn’t help.

And Fury knew better to leave Bucky to find his way to the meeting, because knowing Bucky, he could easily make himself off the grid midway. When that happened, nobody would be able to find him for at least, let say, a month.

Hence, came the nickname Winter Soldier. Because only Bucky could make his trace gone ice cold as long as he wanted it to be.

“You love field work. You just hate to admit it.” Fury said, his long coat fluttered behind him crazier than usual. Bucky hated it when his superior used that knowing tone. He’s like a mother who was certain that his son love peanut butter sandwich when the kid had nightmarish allergy towards peanuts. Kind but cruel at the same moment. Who does it better than Fury..?

“And you’re in Intelligence Unit. And this joint mission will require your,” His boots didn’t make sound even when he stopped on his track to face Bucky full in the face. Unbelievable. “Intelligence.”

They started walking again, with Bucky huffing and puffing like a steam train. He was in S.H.I.E.L.D standard uniform today, like he was on every other days. Unlike Steve who loved his field uniform a little bit too much enough to see him wore it in the building, Bucky... not too much.

“Send Natasha then.” Yeah, Bucky was the least cooperative this morning.

“Oh, she’ll be joining.”

Bucky glowered in respond. But Fury didn’t wither even by a cell under his dark gaze.

When they finally arrived at door leading to the one of many conference rooms in S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters, Bucky stopped to try and sway the director one last time. “What if I got lost and got buried under the ice?”

Unfazed, Fury nodded at the door. “It’s a tropical island, Barnes. Inside, now.”

Another huff, the agent finally opened the door, as stealthy as possible, without wanting to attract anyone’s attention.

Not going to happen. The stupid door creaked—where the hell is maintenance guy when you need him— and every head inside the room turned. Even Clint who was on the verge to snooze snapped his head up and swivelled it around too fast that Bucky could almost hear a painful ‘crack’.

Great, from Boy Scout, he’s now the guy who farted during school morning assembly.

Still, he tried to glide his way around to get into the empty seat next to Clint only to find that empty seat to be filled with an empty coffee cup and a mail package.

“Get that drug supply off the chair, man.” Bucky mumbled as Fury slowly made his way to the front. Christ, that man was doing it on purpose just so everyone’s attention was a little longer on him. _Evil! This man is pure evil! _

“It’s a hand blander.” Clint deadpanned and rolled his eyes, gathering the items to be placed on the table. “Laura bought in online.”

As soon as the seat was clear, Bucky sat. “Whatever. It looks like a giant dildo.”

Someone choked on the croissant somewhere among the meeting attendees. See? That’s why Bucky has always opposed serving food during meeting. Because in his vocabulary, meeting was equivalent to a landmine. Too many traps around to surprise people.

With a small sigh, the agent leaned back to make himself comfortable, only to get the air in his lungs punched out when he caught the S.T.R.I.K.E team leader’s open stare.

Brock Rumlow.

Fuck. Had he noticed the man was sitting in front of Clint, Bucky would have opted sitting on the floor. Even Fury’s laps didn’t sound too bad if he ignored the eye patch and the scar and the kinky moustache.

Without his consent, Bucky felt his heart palpated in a serious mode. Everything inside lurched, including his organs which in reality, should have been fixed in their own designated position. His heart, which palpated earlier, now has grown arms and legs and throwing tantrum. All of sudden, Bucky felt this need to sing Snow White songs and roll all over the floor and show his belly.

All because of Brock Rumlow.

Because he was too perfect in his eyes, too handsome in his eyes with a good amount of product in his hair and perfect amount of hair facial around his mouth and his chin. Nice face aside, the man was all muscles without an ounce of fat on his body. Bucky would know. He once saw the man took off his shirt in the training room.

Back there, Bucky almost fainted and hit his head against the barbell. Since then, he tried to avoid going to the training room whenever Rumlow was there. All that sweat and muscles and olive skin were hazardous to his heart and libido.

The S.T.R.I.K.E team leader was no Barbie’s Ken like Steve—because his best friend from babyhood was born perfectly blonde, with straight teeth and blue eyes—, but he sure did make Bucky’s heart rabitting inside his chest everytime the man was within his line of sight. Few years more of this, the agent was certain his heart will wither before he reached forty.

Too bad Rumlow is a family man with a teenage son. Too bad Bucky’s nerves all turned into mush everytime the man was around.

This was why Bucky loathed joint mission, especially when S.T.R.I.K.E team was involved.

“Barnes.”

Said man started when Clint elbowed him.

“What?” Bucky looked up and made another mistake of looking straight into Rumlow eyes. Again, his heart did a kick boxing. He should wear eye patches on both eyes if these sort of meeting to be conducted again in the future.

The subject of his interest—oh, very much interest—only raised an eyebrow and the agent suddenly felt dizzy.

Quickly, Bucky turned his head and saw Fury was waiting for something. In fact, everyone was expecting something. That, left the agent confused.

“Intelligent unit.” Fury said, now sitting on his throne. “Could you please kindly brief the floor on the island layout as well as the base’s?”

Bucky wanted to say no and open fire. Instead, he quickly turned his head, looked passed Steve’s shoulder and his shiny blond hair to catch Natasha’s attention, eyes pleading. She was in the same unit as he was, so by right, she should share his misery.

Faster than lightning, the Russian turned her head away and stared at the invisible wart on Rollin’s face. _Traitor!_

“Agent Barnes?”

Bucky whipped around again, his shoulder hair flipped and smacked Clint in the cheek. He must have that look of a startled cow because Fury was giving him this concern look.

“Are you having a panic attack?”

“Urm,” He didn’t want to look Rumlow in the eyes and started singing National Anthem inside his head. “Yes..?”

If there was even a speck of emotion harboured inside Fury, it must have been incarcerated millennia years ago. Because chairing the mission briefing right now, was no human.

“Front and middle, now Agent Barnes.”

_Evil! Pure Evil! _

Fighting the urge to hiss and spit like a feral cat, Bucky stood up, pushing the chair with the back of his knees a little bit harder in hope that it would fly backward and crashed against the glass panel for some flying shrapnel to lodge itself into some poor bloke’s neck. He would of course pay for the damage and apologize furiously at the victim though. At least, the meeting will be cancelled and he could spend the rest of his day picking broken glass instead of paperwork.

When such scenario didn’t take place, the agent huffed and paced across the floor to the front towards the too bright screen. With every step he took, Bucky suppressed a whimper.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

If he thought his subjection towards misery had ended for today, clearly Bucky hasn’t been praying enough for the last three decades.

Once again, his heart muscles contracted painfully like it was giving birth to a behemoth creature when Rumlow stood close to him—in his view, seven feet was a little bit too close—outside in the hallway, when he had just finished filling his cup with water. Damn, a dude couldn’t even hydrate himself in peace nowadays.

Luckily enough, Rumlow didn’t seem to notice him—he has practically plastered himself against the water dispenser while the S.T.R.I.K.E leader was making a call.

“Yeah, babe?”

Bucky heard Rumlow spoke the term of endearment and immediately, his heart clenched in painful way. The first time he heard the man called his lover many moons away, it had left a terrible ache in his chest and Bucky went off grid for a week.

Suddenly, he remembered Peter. And his advice.

The teen, regrettably, was wrong. The agent knew what waiting for him is only rejection. Clearly Rumlow was a happy family man with a teenage son and a lover waiting for him, treasured enough to be referred with such endearment. There was no room for him.

“I’ve checked. It’s not here yet.” Rumlow placed his palm against the glass panel to support his weight while his other hand held the phone close to his ear, eyes looking forward. “Yesterday. Alright, alright, I’ll check again.”

Bucky didn’t linger to hear the rest of the conversation as he threw the empty cup into the trash can and quickly walked away, eyes prickling with heat.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Despite his inner reluctance, Bucky joined the mission. They had a solid confirmation that the data was equipped with self destruct program. Any wrong move, it would be long lost forever.

So whatever one sided emotions and ordeals harboured in between his and the STRIKE team leader, the agent had to bury them deep under the Titanic iceberg. Intelligence Unit was very much needed to secure the sensitive data for this time mission and Bucky, along with Natasha were among that was familiar with STRIKE’s M.O and work well with the unit.

The mission went well, overall. One guard managed to nick him in the arm and one of the STRIKE members was shot in the leg. In his opinion, the mission was a success which deserved a small celebration. Of course, the celebration was in a form of social drinking at the local bar that SHIELD personnel frequented and Bucky had no qualm on that.

But first, the agent needed to get home and shower. That is, after he managed to locate Steve so the blond could drive him home. Jesus, how does the man his size could even disappear in SHIELD headquarter..?

On instinct, Bucky went to the locker room.

“Steve? Buddy? You here?” Bucky drawled the others’ name, only to bit the inside of his cheek when he caught Rumlow inside the locker room as well, just about closing his locker unit. The man was still in his tactical gear when he looked back at Bucky.

There was only the two of them. _Damn it_. Is this some sort of punishment for stepping on Clint’s hearing aid? In his defence, it was totally an accident.

“He’s in the shower.” Rumlow was informative, when Bucky went brain dead by the door. When the man’s eyes lingered on him, Bucky all of sudden felt self conscious and fought the urge to see if he left his front zip open.

Similar to Rumlow, Bucky was still in tactical gear, albeit a bit different than STRIKE standard one. His uniform vest had customised holsters to carry a couple of knives on his lower back and another one on his upper back for his sub-machine gun where the claps are up on his shoulder. On his right thigh, another holsters was placed for his Gerber Mark II combat knife. Next to it, was yet, another custom holster to house his COP. 357 Derringer.

Once, Sam told him that he was like walking weapon storage. Bucky digressed. But the way Rumlow was eyeing him now, he couldn’t find himself to argue.

In his defence, acquiring new uniform was an additional work of filling multiple forms. He had this when he was still in STRIKE unit, when the former leader before Rumlow had humoured his request for a customised uniform. Eventually, it grew on him.

On the day said leader had resigned to resume his work in CIA Special Unit, on the same day Rumlow was appointed as the new leader for the STRIKE team, Bucky requested for a departmental transfer. Coerce was the best way to put it since the agent was practically rolling all over the floor in Fury’s office.

He was answered with a flat no at first. It was expected. But when Fury’s brows shot up so high passed his forehead after Bucky had threatened to shoot all the lights and vases and coffee machines inside the headquarter with a heavy riffle, the agent knew he had won.

Good memory, that was.

“Okay.” Bucky finally nodded. When his tongue hasn’t turned into spaghetti, Bucky added, “You going to the bar? With the others?”

Rumlow nodded and unzipped his vest. Really, does he have to do it here? When the inside of his stomach was doing this funny tiny dances..? “Yeah. I’m going to stop by home first. Just so the boy can sleep tonight after seeing his old man hasn’t kicked the bucket.”

“Right.” Bucky had that urge to remove his vest as well, suddenly feeling the room was few degrees hotter. “You got a kid, right? How old is he?”

“Sixteen.” The vest now in his hand as Rumlow leaned his side against the locker much to Bucky’s dismay. It was rare for the STRIKE leader to be in a chatty mood, especially after a mission, especially with someone outside the STRIKE Unit.

Bucky had wanted to find Steve. Not having a cardiac attack.

“Weird kid.” By the locker, Rumlow chuckled and Bucky wanted to stuff his nose full of cocaine so he could happily pass out. It sounded too beautiful in his ears. “Very expressive and honest about anything and everything. Couldn’t even leave his old man in peace for a day. He’s a bit different from teenagers nowadays.”

“Really? I know teenagers these days are nightmare. What with their phones and online and turning their family into arch-enemy.” Bucky glanced at the entryway connecting the locker room and the shower room, slightly wondering if his best friend has drown in one of the cubicle. “I mean, I know I was a nightmare to my parent. I tried to burn the garage down when they didn’t let me to a concert.”

When Rumlow laugh, deep noise vibrated from his chest, Bucky felt liquid warmth travelling along his spine. This is definitely not healthy for his wellbeing.

“But I know not all of them are like that. I met one actually, in the subway. An odd one.” In his mind, Peter resurfaced. His simplicity, his honesty but what made him stood out the most was the strong, special bond he shared in between him and his father.

“Gotta love that kid.” Bucky smiled as he recalled their interaction.

Comfortable silence filled the room momentarily before Rumlow spoke again. “You are going home first too, right? Want a lift? Rogers’ probably in the middle of emptying every shampoo bottle right now.”

“N-no!” Bucky cleared his throat, his tongue thick inside his mouth. There was no possible way he would survive being in the same car as Rumlow when the agent could barely keep his heart in one place. “It’s fine. I’ll just wait for Steve.”

Rumlow nodded and peeled himself away from the locker. “Alright. I’ll see you later, then.” He patted Bucky’s shoulder before exiting the locker room, unnoticed that the agent had frozen on his feet, soul miles away from his body.

In the end, Bucky didn’t wait for Steve. Instead, he took a bus and went straight home, took a long shower, ate a peanut butter sandwich and took an aspirin before going straight to bed. Buried beneath his thick blanket, the agent then sent a text to Steve, informing that he wouldn’t be able to come to the bar because he has contracted malaria from the tropical island.

Bucky went off grid for the next five days.

\--To be Continued--


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course of all the hairy, burly and smelly men in this world, Mr. Hot and Sexy Brock Rumlow just had to be Peter’s dad. Of course the universe hated him enough to provide him with such arrangement as a punishment for whatever wrongdoing he had done in his different life.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Bucky only resurfaced later on the day he moved his belonging into his new apartment.

“Damn it.” Placing the last box on the floor, the agent wiped the sweat from his eyebrow with the back of his hand. He then stared at the pile of boxes, only to have them stared back at him with disdain.

Times like this that he regretted refusing Steve and Sam’s offer to help him with the moving process. Times like this that he regretted for not hiring the moving company instead.

He hadn’t thought that he would own this much stuff.

With a sigh, Bucky leaned his weight against the piled boxes. His strategy to lift all the boxes and placed them in front of his apartment unit before moving them all in one by one had sounded swell and all three hours ago. Now it sounded fairly retarded, especially when the boxes were now blocking the other tenants who wanted to use the hallway. Few of them had to crawl over the boxes just to get to the other side and Bucky couldn’t stop himself from associating the poor tenants with the participants of Ninja Warriors, what with the obstacles and all.

Bucky apologized of course.

“Mr. Barnes?”

A slight frown marred Bucky’s face as he turned to look at the boxes. Odd. Last time he checked, none of it knew how to talk back no matter how much Bucky smacked and kicked it around.

Unless, the box took a form of Peter. All solid and all human like.

All of sudden, Bucky felt all warm and fuzzy. Suddenly, the sun was shining and the birds and bees were singing behind him and flowers bloomed in the air. Well, metaphorically speaking.

“Peter!” Bucky wanted to hug the teen, but he kept the idea to himself when he realized that he was covered in sweat and probably looked like someone who had committed homicide in three different states. All left were dismembered arm and a machete. Then he’s all good to go. “It’s so good to see you, little man!”

Such superficial detail didn’t seem to disgust the teen as Peter closed the distance by three steps and wrapped his arms around Bucky. The man wanted to cry in joy.

“It’s great seeing you again too!” Peter exclaimed once he removed himself. Then, he noticed the boxes on the floor. “Wait, is that—” He looked again, passed Bucky shoulders and then shifted his attention back to the man. “Are you going to be our new neighbour?”

Taken back, Bucky gave a serious thought on the teen’s exclamation. “You live here?”

“Yeah.” Excitement was brimming within that sixteen year old frame as Peter turned to the door, which exactly behind him and opposite to Bucky’s unit. “I live here. Which means, we’ll be opposite neighbour, if you are really moving in here.”

By now, Bucky was definitely grinning from one ear to another ear, hands clenching and unclenching the towel he has been using to wipe his sweat. “Wow, that is great, Peter. When I said small world, I really didn’t think it will be this tiny. What are the odds, huh?”

Before him, Peter only grinned and shifted his weight in between his legs. It was already half an hour past noon when the teen has returned from wherever he was. Carried with him was a bag—similar to the one he saw in the train—couple of books in his left and a paper bag in his right arm, all juggled easily. Judging from the egg carton poking at the top, the agent could easily deduce on the grocery shopping Peter was tasked for prior to returning home.

“You got school on weekend?” Bucky eyed the books in Peter’s hands with interest. He was taking a breather after all, might as well chatting with his favourite teenager.

Peter looked at his books, then shook his head and smiled. “No—this?” He lifted the books slightly. “I went to the library this morning to do my homework.”

From warm and fuzzy, his heart now laying content like a sea cucumber spending holiday at a tropical beach while slurping on coconut juice. Though not blood related, Peter still made him feel like a proud parent.

“I’d wanted to see you again, Mr. Barnes. Sort of waited around at the station. But I guess your car has already been fixed by then.”

Bucky responded the teens’ simplicity with an apologetic look. “Not exactly. I was on field work a bit and you probably missed my schedule and yeah, my buddy gave me a lift some days. Sorry, Pete.”

“No, no. It’s totally fine. I understand. I wanted to see you again because,” The teen paused momentarily when his neighbour—now Bucky’s neighbour too—opened the door of her apartment only to have her widened her eyes two fractions too large at the massive obstacle. They greeted each other—more in between Peter and the young girl—before she weighed her options. From her clothing, she appeared like she was heading towards some place nice.

Two moments later, she settled her decision by closing the door and exited her apartment via the window inside and with harness, suit and goggles that one usually see in Mission Impossible movie. Then again, it was all in Bucky’s head. Whatever she does in her apartment is no one else business.

“I wanted to really thank you.” Unfazed with the scene, Peter continued. “I followed your advice and went to talk to my dad about it.”

Now using one of the boxes as a makeshift chair, the agent sat down and looked at the teen in interest. “Yeah? How did it go?”

“It went great! I can’t believe how silly I’ve been the whole time worrying about it.” Grinning, Peter shifted his arms when the one of the carrots was threatening to jump out of the bag. “Dad has my back all this time. He said I shouldn’t do things that make me unhappy. And, um, he also said that opportunity comes and go, so I shouldn’t worry about it much.”

Off all the things about the teen, Bucky thought that Peter’s cheerful expression was the best to look at. It had this balmy effect on him, the kind of sweet innocence in him, making it felt like it was summer all over again. “See? I told you it’s gonna be—”

The rest of his words wedged behind his teeth when the door—the door to Peter’s apartment if he’s not mistaken—was opened abruptly. It was Peter’s father, obviously, given that the teen lived with his old man—and, and...

... It was Brock Rumlow. In dark cargo pants and faded t-shirt and filling the doorway.

_Aaah... fuck. _Of course of all the hairy, burly and smelly men in this world, Mr. Hot and Sexy Brock Rumlow just had to be Peter’s dad. Of course the universe hated him enough to provide him with such arrangement as a punishment for whatever wrongdoing he had done in his different life.

“Who are you talking to, Peter..?”

The carrot almost went airborne and hit Rumlow in the eye when Peter, in his excitement, turned around. “Dad, dad! You’d never have guessed! Remember about the guy I told you about, in the station? He’s actually—”

“Barnes..?”

In between the boxes—Bucky refused to acknowledge that he was actually trying to hide—the agent held back a whimper, sucked up lungful of air and stood up. Behind the curtain of his fair, he blinked hard, twice, and another more, in hope that everything before him was nothing but his imagination.

Too bad, Brock Rumlow was still there, separated by the boxes and few feet more and Bucky still had this feeling like he has just been caught wondering inside a sex shop by his co-workers, with his hand holding on the kinky looking dildo that looked like anything but penis.

Discombobulated and far from his usual composed self—not that he was composed whenever he was within Rumlow’s orbit—, the agent willed himself to greet the man. “Oh, urm, hey.”

“Where have you been?” To Bucky’s much horror, Rumlow took few steps closer. _Oh, no, no, no. Where are Ethan Hunt and his harness when he needed them?_ _Or the brain washing chair?_ “You went off grid for almost a week. Fury is ready to turn every stone within this continent to look for you.”

“Siberia...” He replied a bit sheepishly. No further details given. Not even the facts that Bucky was actually stranded in an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere when sudden blizzard with heavy snow raged the area for two days. The Twinkies he had brought with him were his main sustains during those two days which eventually saved his life and increased his blood sugar level. Also, Rumlow didn’t have to know that.

Once the blizzard was clear, Bucky then spent the next half a day making giant snow man. Again, nobody in SHIELD have to know that.

“Wait, Fury was angry..?” Flustered as he was, the agent was taken by curiosity, more so when he was certain that every speck of Fury’s emotion had been reduced to ash along with his hair.

“He ripped off his eyepatch.”

“... oh.”

“You haven’t submitted the drive, Barnes.”

Alright, now he felt fairly stupid. What he should have done was to hand over the drive containing the data from the mission to Natasha. What he should not have done was to tell—or lie to—everyone that he had contracted malaria, eat another peanut butter sandwich, packed Twinkies and Tiger cookies into his usual go-bag and went off grid. On Monday, when he finally turns up for work, Bucky had no doubt Fury would be breathing fire through one nostril and venom through another.

Rationality was how he got the position of Director of SHIELD. Not mercy and compassion.

Bucky could only nod solemnly.

“You guys know each other.” More like a statement, less like a question from Peter the boy genius. 

“He’s from work.” Rumlow said, suddenly his interest shifted towards the boxes. “You’re going to be the new neighbour?” He nodded at the pile.

“Yeah. My friend... knew the previous owner. Didn’t know you live here.” Distracted, Bucky noticed Peter was switching his gaze in between his father and him. Brown eyes calculating. Even without having to poke and prod the teen’s mind, the agent, from where he stood, he could tell that Peter’s mind was racing.

Boy, did his mind race faster than any possible moment, drinking the information, and gurgling them inside his mind. No, it wasn’t racing anymore. By now every brain cells inside Peter’s head were high with steroid and adrenaline, hurdling, jumping and avoiding every obstacle before them. Each fought to reach the end goal. If met with more resistance, the cells would just knock it down with a Polo mallet.

The school wasn’t a delusional piece of work when they decided that Peter was brilliant and intellectually gifted. It took less than two minutes for Peter to spit out his newly thought conclusion.

_Oh Gods... The kid knew._

Thankfully, the STRIKE team leader stopped his son from spitting anything that could make Bucky to dig the floor with his bare hands, anything as long he could stay buried and stay hidden from the rest of the world. He must have sensed something was off.

Oh, hey. Siberia sound perfect at this moment around if you ignore the nightmarish whiteout and the warehouse that looked a lot like a Manchurian Candidate facility.

“Do me a favour, will you. Take this,” Rumlow pointed at the grocery bag in Peter’s arms. “And put them away. And watch over the sauce, make sure nothing’s burning.”

Peter opened his mouth to protest, but quickly morphed it into a pout when Rumlow raised his eyebrow. The teen gave in and shuffled inside, feet heavy as boulders only to stop by at the corner of the hallway inside their apartment. Half of his body hidden behind the wall, the teen tried to eavesdrop to their conversation.

“Inside, Peter. The kitchen is inside, not here.” Rumlow said in incredulous tone, finger pointing towards the inside of the apartment. “If I smell anything funky, you can say goodbye to next month allowance.”

Bucky could only imagine how Peter grumbled his way into the kitchen. It was endearing to watch them.

“So,”

Almost jolting on his feet, Bucky fought a shudder. He wasn’t sure if he had done wrong to Rumlow like, for example, dropping a building on his face. But somehow it felt like had done something.

Arms crossed his chest, Rumlow leaned his side against the wall, his stare zeroed in on the agent’s fidgeting form. Last time Bucky fidgeted like this, he was confronted by Fury for breaking the photocopy machine. Or was it the toilet..?

“You were the one that manipulated my son to refuse the internship at SI?”

Eyes questioning, Rumlow was unfazed when Bucky spluttered.

“Yes! No—I mean, I didn’t know he’s your kid! I wasn’t tryin’—” Under intense pressure and overwhelming anxiety, Bucky realized that his Brooklyn accent was getting thicker with every passing moment. But now, the agent couldn’t care less as he heaved a deep sigh, shoulders slumped forward. “I told Peter to listen to his heart and—and to come clean with his father. Tell him how he feels. The kid needs to know that his words matter.”

Still leaning against the wall, Rumlow didn’t say anything, his expression unreadable.

“So yeah, I’m bias I guess.” The agent shrugged. “From the way he talked, Peter clearly adored his dad. And I wanted him to stay with you, even it’s a little bit longer.” By now, Bucky couldn’t even look straight into Rumlow’s eyes, keeping his gaze somewhere else. “Because if someone that cares for me leaves too soon, I’ll be sad. And the kid will be sad. He’s just sixteen, I didn’t mean—” 

From the floor, Bucky finally fixed his gaze on the STRIKE team leader. One after another, sudden guilt dropped on top of him like a brick which left him almost breathless. “I didn’t mean to ruin Peter’s future. I’m sorry...”

While Bucky felt like he was splashed with a bucket of cold water, in deliberate slowness, both corner of Rumlow’s mouth twitched, before extending by few millimetre.

Rumlow was smiling. Alright, now that’s weird. Bucky had just ruined the kid’s life and the man was smiling..? What kind of mental institution is this..?

He didn’t stay creepy quite for long as Rumlow now was seen laughing, albeit in control manner, shoulders still shaking. “Relax, Barnes. I’m not angry.” Head shaking, his laughed slowly transformed to small chuckles. “And you didn’t ruin anyone’s future. I was just messing with you.”

“Oo...ooh.” Rumlow still chukling, Bucky was still blinking. Just in case if he was indeed stranded in a different dimension.

“You’re right.”

“Uhh, I am..?” 

“Peter shouldn’t do something when his heart clearly says it’s not the right thing. It’s unfair for him if I pushed for the internship. Maybe the internship is the right thing, but it isn’t at the right time. I don’t know.” A small pause. “But I do know that I want him to be happy, I want to see him happy for the rest of his life. And I want him to know that his words do matter. I mean, I know the kid has been bottling up something since the school called me, but he’s just—”

“Being Peter.” Bucky threw in the rope. “Too considerate for a sixteen year old.”

Rumlow smiled, all teeth, and it was blinding. “Yeah, that he is. Anyway, I’m glad he talked to you. Really, thank you.”

Despite the way his heart hammering in his chest enough for Bucky to hear the thrumming inside his head, the agent pinched his lips together, hands pulling and twisting the towel in his hand. Ironically, his tongue was behaving rather erratically inside his mouth just like the towel. If he talked with his tongue like that, it’s not going to be flowery and sunny. It would be a massive disaster.

“So those are your boxes?” Rumlow nodded at Bucky’s stuffs piling hazardly behind him, next to him and beneath him just now.

Bucky only nodded, voice caged inside his throat. Deep inside, he was harbouring a hope that Rumlow would return back into his apartment so that he could finally able to breathe. He didn’t care if something was burning in the kitchen. Really, he didn’t care if Rumlow was cooking biological weapon for mass destruction in there as long the man was outside his radius. Right now, as they spoke—more Rumlow than Bucky—the agent felt like he was diving deep into the bottom of the ocean, looking for mystical cube looking object with no oxygen support.

“That’s a lot of boxes you’ve got there, Barnes.” Rumlow pointed out. “For a single guy living on his own.”

Bucky swallowed in hesitation.

“Is that...” His eyebrow knitted together as the STRIKE team leader narrowed his gaze towards a specific box. Or wrapping. Whatever.

_Please don’t say dildo. Please don’t say dildo. Please don’t say dildo._

“A lion statue?”

With a slight apprehension, Bucky followed the other’s gaze which eventually landed on the third box to his left. The leg of the said animal bronze statue was poking out from the small opening of the box. _Shit._

“Black panther actually.” Bucky found his voice and cleared his throat. He got the said statue when he went off grid two years earlier where he spent three days in North Africa. There were two of them actually. He named them T’Challa and Shuri and in his mind, they are siblings.

But Rumlow didn’t have to know that.

“Tell me that’s a bucket.” Now Rumlow was looking drum looking thing, brows still glued together.

“It’s Thailand rain drum. But I use it as a side table.”

Before Rumlow could say anything about the mask—one that he accidentally dropped from the box—, Bucky quickly added, “That’s a Venetian Mask. Got few of them.”

Silent. Alright. Awkward.

“You’re a weird guy aren’t you, Barnes?” Brows now softened, Rumlow had this odd look on him that could easily passed for amusement. “You got these things from those times you went off grid?”

“... yes?”

Interruption then came in a form of Peter. Right. Interruption is good right now, Bucky reckoned. He could sew his tongue back together from turning it into total spaghetti.

“Dad..?” Once again, Peter lingered at the doorway. It might seem that the teen was looking at Rumlow, but Bucky knew better that he was accessing the scene before him. Look closer, one might see a speck of mischievousness reflected in those brown eyes.

Bucky has almost forgotten how evil teenagers could be.

“What’s that, babe?” Rumlow gave a questioning look at the teen.

Peter shuffled on his feet. “Do I set the table for three? Like I don’t know,” He shrugged. “If Mr. Barnes wants to join us for lunch? I mean, you guys know each other and stuff and he sort of helped me. So, mmrpph.” The teen finished it off with a low cough.

If Bucky didn’t know any better, he could say that Peter was trying to kill him by forcing a cardiac attack out of him.

Hand by his hip, Rumlow looked at his son like the teen was, well, something that was beyond any understanding. “Inside, now.”

“But—”

“Now.”

There was an exasperated sighed, there was a pout and there was a grumble before Peter finally made his way back inside.

While a bomb filled with shock beads exploded next to Bucky’s head, the STRIKE team leader rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. He’s too—”

“Did you just—you call your kid Babe..?”

Confused look on the outside, inside, Bucky’s felt his heart was doing cardio workout. More than the reality, the agent knew his wellbeing at the moment was suffering in undeniable apprehension.

Rumlow, in his part, appeared slightly embarrassed. Not humiliated kind of embarrassed, but the kind of when someone was caught red handed. In Bucky’s case, which was most of the time.

“Yeah, it was my wife.” The man smiled and Bucky fought the urge to punch his chest hard just to make the little shit called heart to stop rabitting stupidly. “She thought it was cute to call Peter babe when he was still a toddler and it sort of rubbed off on me. So the name stuck.”

“Oh...” His brain absorbed the information faster than a desert dry sponge. “Do you by any chance,” Damn it. His holier than thou mind wanted him to stop, to let the issue go by. But his conscience however, urged him to paddle across the water further than what Winter Soldier would be comfortable with, to actually see what was waiting for him at the other side.

Oooh, fuck it.

“... call anyone else babe, other than Peter?”

“Not than I can think of.” No hesitation on Rumlow’s part. Surprisingly, the man wasn’t perturbed by the question.

... Or he was filing it for future revenge.

Something was unfurled in Bucky’s chest. Something lumpy, ropey and ugly. When it did, the agent felt like laughing.

So Bucky laughed for a full minute until he found himself snorting silly while Rumlow looked at him like he was a mentally disturbed patient.

“You alright there, Barnes..?” Slightly concerned, Rumlow asked.

By now, the said agent was seen dry heaving. “Dang... I’ve been a complete idiot all this time.”

“Ookayy.” Rumlow drawled. “You know what, I’m going to check on the lunch first. Then we’ll set the table for three and after that, we’ll get you boxes sorted.” He began to step back into the apartment.

Rumlow barely made it one step further when Bucky’s all talking and all loud.

“I like you.” The agent said it in one breath.

The STRIKE team leader halted on his track, turned and gave off an unreadable expression. 

“I mean, not in a way when you like flowers or pastry, but in like _like_ way.” Again, said in one breath. “Deeply like, romantically like, inhumanly like—”

“I heard you for the first time, Barnes. And I know what you meant.”

Bucky blinked. “Anyway I’ve been harbouring extreme likeness for you for years. Before you became STRIKE leader and the actual reason why I asked for a transfer.”

Inside, every cell was screaming obscenity, begging for the agent to stop. But still, “Fuck, I think Sam or Natasha must have put something in my drink. Like a fast digesting poison. Look, I know a lot of people think you’re mean because you always wear this assho-lish expression—”

One eyebrow was raised.

“—but they’re wrong. You care about your teammates, you look after them when you think no one notices and—and, you had probably forgotten about it, but you once helped me when I was a rookie. Remember? When the psyche evaluation decided that I was too unstable to be requited by SHIELD after I did my tour in Iraq and they thought I’m a nut job? Natasha told me that you pushed my name forward for probation instead and you were the one who actually supervised my progress. And think that’s when I fall in love with you.”

Bucky expected at least wince from the other or something that was akin to a disgusted look. In contrary to his expectation however, Rumlow just stood there and leaned his side back at that spot against the wall. And grinned.

God, no... Not that wolfish grin that gave Bucky more than a handful of unholy dreams at night. First time he saw it during SHIELD annual dinner, the agent had to excuse himself, drench some unlucky dude with his cranberry punch and went straight to the washroom just to punch a hole into the wall, just few inches next to the door.

Nobody said anything. But every being in SHIELD knew it was Winter Soldier doing.

Good news, Rumlow was nowhere being livid. So Bucky was going to take his chance and paddle—no, he was on roll! He’s going to dive straight down towards Atlantis if he had to. “But I couldn’t say anything! How could I? You have a kid going on and all this time I thought you have a girlfriend or something what with that ‘Babe’ thing flying around everytime you made a call! I mean, it’s too misleading!”

Puff after puff after another puff, short breaths left the agent. It took about a minute for adrenaline to clear out of his system and another full minute for logic to return from holiday in some godforsaken island, drinking coconut juice and playing smash the watermelon in bikini. When it happened, sudden heat wave washed over the agent and Bucky couldn’t help himself from glancing at the boxes behind him in desperation—big box preferably—just in case if he wanted to dive into it and spend the rest of his life in a box.

He felt like a cat looking for an escape route in the vet office.

More so when Rumlow still had that grin on him that made his brain cells withered in rapid succession.

“Are you finished?” The STRIKE team leader asked.

Bucky only nodded dumbly.

The grin now has transformed into a full blown low chuckle as Rumlow shook his head in disbelief. “Well, who could have guessed? I thought this day would never come.”

Once, twice, thrice, Bucky blinked.

_... What?_

“I’ve been dropping hints for a while. I thought you weren’t interested.”

Another blink. “What hint..? You have?”

Shrugging, the other smiled again. “The lingering look. The smile. Small touches. I figured you haven’t noticed because everytime we’re in the same room, you seemed to be more interested to stare at Fury’s eye patch the whole time. So I gave up. And thought that I was too old for any of it.”

“Moustache actually.” Bucky corrected with a cough. “I call it kinky moustache.”

Rumlow didn’t say anything further, just pinning Bucky on his spot with his open stare. Finally, when the agent started to fidget, the man smirked and nodded towards the inside of his apartment. “Come on. Food first. Anything else can—”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Bucky licked his lower lip. All the talking and confessing had left him quite thirsty actually. “So which one is it? Do you still like me? Or have you stopped liking me?!”

With a slight tilt of his head, Rumlow furrowed his brows together. “You want me to answer that? Like, right now?”

His hair bobbed a bit when he nodded furiously. “Yeah! We can’t just cut the conversation when we’re finally in the same wavelength and I’m not deep in the ice!”

Rumlow stared at him like the agent had gone bonkers.

“If you still like me, that’ll be great. But if you don’t, that’s okay too. Sure I’ll sulk and mop and go off grid for a year, but I’ll have my closure and I can move on.”

In his head, in real time, Bucky had already picked few spots for his next off grids destination. Bucharest was one of them. The fresh market there sold the sweetest plum that got him addicted every time. And a tropical island was a must as well. Preferably with little population so Bucky could play smash the watermelon at the beach using a baseball bat without receiving that look like he was a mentally disturbed man.

And Siberia too. He could visit the abandoned warehouse to sulk and mop for a week. He’s going to make a den this time with blankets and indulged himself with junk foods. That is, if the winter didn’t kill freeze him first.

Too busy with his inner monolog, Bucky couldn’t react fast enough when Rumlow, in one swift movement, closed their distance and kissed him square in the mouth. Just a press of lips against lips, soft, lingering, just enough for Bucky’s heart to land on Jupiter and it made the agent craved for more. But before Bucky could lean further, the touch, as quick as it descended, disappeared when Rumlow pulled away. Cock tease.

But the hand at the back of his head was still there, keeping him in place. “There. You’ve got your answer. Happy?”

Still in dazed, Bucky couldn’t trust his tongue to verbally, well, to work out anything. So he just nodded dumbly because at the moment, the agent was certain that his heart has stopped momentarily considering how close Rumlow was, only few inches from his face. In this arrangement, the man’s eyes caught the light in a way that made his brown eyes a tone lighter. They were beautiful which only made his heart to play dead even longer than necessary. And when Rumlow’s hand squeezed his neck gently, Bucky wanted to purr like a cat.

More so when the STRIKE team leader removed his hand away.

“Lunch now. Boxes, later.”

Without another word, Rumlow stepped back inside.

The kiss has left Bucky grinning until his cheeks hurt, until he felt the tightness at the corners of his mouth. In between the boxes, in the middle of the hallways, as the agent stood, every cells in his head was drunk on champagne, enough for him to feel light headed, too much that he failed to stop himself from punching a hole into one of the big boxes on his left.

... Two seconds later, inside his room, Peter almost dropped his book when he heard Bucky screamed ‘My Hanuman statue!’.

By the stove, Rumlow only rolled his eyes. Perhaps it would be better to sort the boxes first before anymore off-dimension thing crawled out from any of them.

**\--The End--**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my cat is still sick, so I'm a little bit stressed right now. And there will be many Extra chapters. Alright, not many, but few.


	3. Extra No. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My new job is going to start next week, so I'm a little stressed out. Do enjoy this chapter.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Of course Peter would suddenly remember that he had a world endangered assignment to discuss with his classmate, too important that the teen excused himself right after lunch. The teen also said something about polar bear and extinction, but it was hard to tell when the kid was hoping his way around the house.

Of course Peter would later call to tell him that he would be spending the rest of his day at said classmate’s house.

As for Bucky..? The agent was just a happy camper, now polishing his second slice of apple pie—Rumlow made the pie and Bucky fought the cry of joy—, the mountain of boxes waiting for him inside the apartment be damned. He couldn’t stop from watching Rumlow from moving around and collecting the dishes and brought them to the kitchen. The agent offered help, obviously, but when the second plate almost went airborne, Rumlow had smacked his hand away and shoved the apple pie into his chest, telling him to be productive by finishing the pastry.

With a satisfied sight, the agent stood up, now empty plate in his hand and shuffled into the kitchen. He watched a bit as Rumlow ran the dirty dishes under the soap water, side leaned against the counter.

“So, can we like tell everyone that we’re official..?” A moment of pause. “I mean, not verbally, but maybe we could hold hands..?” His voice was getting a note lower and lower, more so when Rumlow did that slow turning movement, like Bucky had just informed him that he was pregnant with triplet.

Back leaned against the sink, the STRIKE team leader crossed his arms over his chests, not bothered by the suds clinging to his t-shirt. The man didn’t look as much defensive, just… amused. Suddenly, Bucky had the urge to check if any of the cream had gotten stuck on his hair.

“I’m sure they’ll figure out in less than a day, James. What with Romanoff and other espionages born in SHIELD.”

“I told you to call me Bucky.” The agent mumbled, lips nibbling on the fork.

Rumlow looked scandalous, rolled his eyes and went back to settle the dishes. “I’m not calling you Bucky.”

“Why not?” A slight pout pursed his lips together. “A lot of people call me Bucky.”

“Because if I said Bucky, it feels like I’m calling for a horse, or a moose or something.” The other shook his head incredulously as his hand brought the dishes to be rinsed under the tap water, one by one. “So, just no. How did ‘Bucky’ even come into the vocabulary anyway?”

Bucky shrugged, the pout has lessened a bit. At least, Rumlow was calling him by his first name. “Bucky for Buchanan. James is too formal and Buchanan is too long. So, there you have it. Bucky.”

“Right.” Rumlow mumbled. “Still, there will be no ‘Bucky’ in this house.” Before another pout could make an appearance, the STRIKE team leader nodded at the freshly washed dished. “Be useful and help me with these.”

“I can be useful with something else.” A less than innocent grin split the agent’s face into half.

Rumlow only responded with a look that sent Bucky quickly on his feet. In split moment, the agent was already holding the plate, dry clothe in his hand.

“What if I send everything flying again?”

“Use your real hand, I doubted anything would slip off.” The STRIKE team leader handed Bucky the next plate, watching as Bucky took it into his flesh hand, while his bionic limb hold on the dry cloth. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell Peter anything about your arm when you guys first met.”

From Rumlow, Bucky then landed his gaze on his cybernetic implant replacing his missing left arm. “Oh. I didn’t think it was important.” The agent shrugged, recalling that he had his gloves on on the day he first met Peter. It was like an impulse, to hide it in public view. After years having the prosthetic, there was still a hint of uneasiness in him whenever people took a double look at his arm. Unless there was a necessity, Bucky tended to hide it behind the long sleeve and gloves.

“Peter is obviously all over it, of course, now that he’s seen that arm.” Handing the last piece of the plate, Rumlow turned off the tap water. “Being a tech kid and all. On Monday, he’s probably going to tell everyone in his class.”

Smiling, Bucky remembered how excited Peter was upon seeing his metal arm during lunch.

“I’m sure he would.”

The last plate was finally done and Rumlow took the stack one by one and placed them into the cabinet.

Now that the chore was done, Bucky decided to busy himself by shifting his curiosity on the interior of the living room. He traced his knuckles along the drapes, thumbed few books arranged on the rack—turn out, all of them belonged to Peter—and poked and prodded at the furniture. Bucky was certain that if their will could be manifested, they would have smacked the agent in the face.

Eventually, his curiosity landed on the row of framed pictures on the cabinet, particularly on the picture of a woman in her late twenties—brown eyes that matched her eyes with dimples that accentuated her beauty. Bucky didn’t have to be a genius to put two and two together.

“She’s beautiful.” The agent said.

Rumlow, who was in the middle of flipping the cushions, paused and looked up. “Thanks.”

“What happened?”

His question was met with silence when the other, in solid concentration, slipped a hand in between the cushions before wiggling his fingers around. He finally found his target when Rumlow pulled out his phone. “Leukaemia.”

Bucky only nodded, throat slightly contracted.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Caught off guard, the agent snapped his head up.

Before him, Rumlow had his back leaned against the couch, hands mussing with his phone. “After my wife passed away, I wanted more time to spend with my kid, you know, support each other. I told myself if I ever wanted to start dating again, that could come later.” Passing the phone in between his hands, the STRIKE team leader then looked down and stared at the floor. “That later eventually turned to months, turn to years and to more than a decade.”

A minute of comfortable silence slipped in between before Rumlow continued. “Dating is one thing. But inviting someone into the family, incorporating them into the household is another thing. Or us into their household. It’s not as easy as people have been telling.”

“Look, James, I like you. I really do. And if we want this to work out—” 

“I do want this to work.” Bucky quickly added.

“—then you have to be patient with me. I know Peter is fond of you. And you’re fond of my son. I can see that. But I don’t want to rush to merge everything together.”

Bucky shrugged almost nonchalantly. “I can be patient.”

“Really..?” One eyebrow raised. “So you’re not going to jump on me in HQ?”

“Uuh,” His eyes didn’t meet Rumlow, couldn’t meet Rumlow to be exact. “Maybe once or twice..?”

Rumlow gave look of defeated bloke and mumbled, “I’m going to call Peter.”

“Peter? Why?”

Phone next to his ear, Rumlow other hand rested by his hip. “I’m going to tell him to come home before dinner. I’ll be damned if the boy decides to sleep in the church for whatever he’s planning.”

“So no sleepover for me?” Bucky asked coyly.

The agent received a mouthful of throw pillow as an answer. _Cockblocker._


End file.
